


Not So Innocent Love

by princess_hotpocket



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, OOC, PWP, Pining, Sick Fic, Slow Burn, erik doesn’t like himself, its all leading up to sex but they love each other, kind of, no beta we die like men, thats it that’s the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-09-06 12:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princess_hotpocket/pseuds/princess_hotpocket
Summary: Christine chooses to stay with Erik to save Raoul, but Erik cannot bring himself to marry her. Unfortunately, he still has no control over certain... desires... of his — desires he knows, or perhaps only assumes, Christine does not share. She is the picture of innocence, and he cannot ruin her, it would certainly kill him. But, maybe, just maybe, she wants him to...





	1. She Stayed

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic, guys! not sure how long it will be, but kudos and comments are much appreciated :D  
(ps this is mostly set in the musical universe, i might mention persia at some point but it’s not important to the plot)

He was entirely sure he hadn’t heard her correctly. All his life, every secret entrance built, every murder committed, every godforsaken mirror he had ever looked at his mangled face in, had been leading up to this moment. He knew he was doomed to fail from the start, knew with all his black heart, but beast that he was, what could he do except chase that unoffered and unattainable face that tortured every moment of his wretched existence? It was that face, that heaven, that stood before him now, clothed in the white gown of his own creation, radiant in purity, innocence, and naivety. 

For that reason alone, he knew he had not heard her correctly. 

“What did you say?” His face loomed near to hers, feral and ugly, he knew - and when she flinched away, he cursed himself and his miserable face. How he must have looked like the devil incarnate. 

“I…” she faltered, blue eyes meeting his own amber ones, “I said I will stay with you.” Her chin rose in determination, and his chest tightened with want. 

“You…” He could not trust his ears, assured himself that it was all another vivid dream he would soon wake from. 

“I will stay.” Her tone became more sure. “You may let Raoul go.” 

Erik dug his thumbnail into his hand, begging himself to wake up from what was simultaneously his greatest dream and worst nightmare. She was never supposed to have said yes. Still, he remained firmly situated in his present reality.

“No!” Raoul screamed from his noose at the gate, snapping Erik back. “Christine, don’t! He’s a monster! He’ll take you for his own and never let you leave!” 

Erik snarled at the man, then nearly slapped himself in self-disgust as he saw the fear creep back into Christine’s face. Still holding the rope that controlled Raoul’s life in his fist, he stalked towards the Vicomte. 

“Monster I may be, but I give you my word that I will never hurt her,” he hissed.

“What good is the word of a monster?” Raoul spat back. 

His words stung, but Erik would be damned if he let it show. He dropped the rope to the floor and began to turn the crank to raise the iron gate that trapped Raoul inside his lair.

“Go!” Erik laced his words with venom. “Take your title and leave. You shall never bear witness as to how I keep my word!” He untied Raoul’s bonds, and the man quickly scurried to the other side of the gate. The Phantom released the crank that kept the iron bars raised, and the whole thing clanged to the ground. He felt Christine jump behind him at the sound.

Raoul clung to the bars of the metal gate. 

“I’ll rescue you, Christine! The mob makes its way here at this very moment! I’ll lead them here!” Raoul made to move away, but Christine cried out.

“Wait!” She flew over to the bars that separated her from Raoul, and for one disastrous moment, Erik thought he would have to bear witness to some tearful lover’s goodbye. Instead, Christine’s tone became serious. “You can never come back here, Raoul. Not as long as you live.”

Raoul’s perfect brow creased. “Whyever not?” 

Erik’s heart pounded in his ribcage. 

“Because,” Christine began, “If you come back, Raoul, he will kill me just to have revenge on us both. Lead the mob away, save yourself, and promise to forget about me! It is the only way we can both stay alive.” She grasped his hand through the bars, and Raoul nodded tearfully.  
Erik’s fragile heart crumpled in his chest. She genuinely thought he was capable of taking her life. Whatever decision she had made to remain with him, it was not the result of any feelings she might have had towards him, for of course there were none. She had saved Raoul, that was it. The only word for what he felt was crushed. He raised his eyes to her.

She stood ten feet away from him, one arm curled in front of her in protection, eyes shut as if in anticipation of some vile thing. As he realized that she was expecting him to force himself on her, he nearly imploded from shame. As if he could ever take her like… like an animal! The mere thought caused rippled of revulsion to wash through his body. 

“Christine, I…” He took a few steps towards her, but she only shut her eyes tighter. His hand came up to his terrible face, and he remembered that it was bared to the light. Quickly, he made his way over to where he had torn the mask off and picked it up from the ground, refastening it onto his skin, covering his disfigurement. “I’m sorry.” His voice nearly broke. “Oh, Christine, you must think me a horrible man. I would never, never, you must understand, force myself on you in any way.” His heart broke even more as he uttered the words, but her eyes cracked open just a sliver, and then widened as she realized that was he said was true. 

“But…” she began, “you said you were to marry me.”  
The way she said almost seemed as if she wanted-- no. No, she would never want him like that. 

“It is late.” He cursed himself for every wretched decision that had led up to this moment where she stayed. Of all the horrible things she could have done, she stayed, and now he must live with the consequences for the rest of his life. “There is a bedroom at the end of the hallway that you may have.” 

“So you will not marry me?”

He raised his face to hers, angry that she would ask again.

“For god’s sake, Christine, no! I will not!” And he was snarling in her face again, and she would be so easy just to kiss, to sweep off her feet and carry her into his bed and take, but he could not. There was fear in her eyes and fear written on her face. What had he done? Damn him. He wished he’d never been born. “You shall not have to see me if you do not wish it.” He gentled his tone in an attempt to wipe the terror from her face once more. It was the least he could do after what he has put her through. Christine’s brow creased at his statement, but she nodded. 

“Will you show me to my room, then?” 

He almost took her arm to lead her, but pulled back just as he found his hand reaching out towards her. She most certainly would not want a thing like him touching her. But oh, how he wanted to touch her. He ached for it. 

“Here.” Erik opened the door to a candlelit room. There was a large, four poster bed in the middle, draped with red satin sheets and coverings, and the walls were rose covered paper. A bouquet of black roses sat on the cherry wood nightstand, and he hurried over to take them from their crystal vase. “My apologies, I know you will not wish to have any reminders--”

“You can leave them.” Christine’s words rushed from her mouth, and she glanced nervously at him. 

“No, it is quite alright. You will want them gone, I understand,” he protested. She was so sweet, so pure, that even in the home of a monster she daren’t be rude. 

“Please, put them back. I like roses.” 

And how was he supposed to resist a plea like that, soft and innocent. She liked roses. Of course she did. But these ones were black and tainted, so why should she want those? Though he didn’t understand, Erik set them back in their vase.

“I usually take breakfast at six. I’ll make enough for two and leave some out. You won’t have to cross my path at all.” He knew she slept late, but that thought only served as a terrible reminder of all the nights he had spent watching her sleep behind the mirror. “The rest of the day I’ll be in my music room.”

“Alright.” Christine looked around her room. Erik had decorated it to be the honeymoon suite, never thinking that she would ever actually sleep in it. God, what a deranged fool he’d been. “This room is beautiful,” she remarked quietly.

And God he did not deserve to have this creature in his house, who commented on the beauty of the room her kidnapper had put her in. He felt himself almost combust.

“I’ll leave you alone, now.” He began to exit the room.

“Wait!” Christine called just as he stepped out into the hallway.

“Yes?” 

“Are there any…” she blushed, “are there any clothes? I seem to have lost access to my wardrobe. 

Fuck. 

Yes, there were clothes. Of course there were clothes. Erik had designed an entire closet of clothes for her, ranging from the fanciest to the most utterly plain, the most decent day dress to, he hated to admit it, absolutely the most scandalous lingerie. And now she was going to see all of it.

“Yes…” he started. God, he was a fool. She would see everything he had dreamed of her wearing, and would think him even more of a freak. His shame would hang in her closet for her to see everyday, a constant reminder of just how abnormal he was. “In the closet there.” He pointed a bony finger at the door of the closet. To Erik’s surprise, Christine did not look entirely angry or afraid that he had an entire wardrobe for her. Just wait until she looks inside, he thought miserably to himself. And, dear God she was opening the door to the closet now, while he stood in her doorway, frozen in place. 

She pieced through the clothing, rubbing the various gown materials between her fingers, and occasionally pulling a few out to hold up to herself in the mirror next to the closet. They were all her exact measurements, and each would fit her perfectly. Erik wondered if she would even wear any of them. He watched as she held up a satin lavender day dress up to herself and spun in the mirror. His heart clenched. 

“It’s beautiful!” She exclaimed, and for a second, it almost seemed as if they were a normal couple and he’d just bought her a gift that she really loved. But of course, they weren’t even a couple, and he couldn’t delude himself. 

“You like it?” he asked in shock. She turned and smiled at him tentatively.

“Yes.” She turned back to the closet and hung the dress back up, and Erik noticed that that was the last fairly normal selection. His face flushed with shame as she pulled out the next piece -- a light blue bralette and matching pair of lace underwear. He’d sized the bra so that her ample bosom would be all but spilling out of it, and the underwear were meant to rest just above her hips and cut down in a low V towards her center. Christine’s lips parted in a silent O. The air left Erik’s lungs.

“My deepest apologies, Christine, I never meant--” He could not finish his sentence, so he took a step forward in an attempt to take the offending article of clothing from her hand. Surely, she did not want it. Christine pulled it back just out of reach. 

“I, uh…” she cleared her throat and looked into his eyes, “I’ll need some undergarments anyway.” She took the hanger and replaced it on the rack of clothing before shutting the closet door. “It’s late.”

“Oh.” Erik looked at the clock on the wall and realized that it is almost midnight. “Of course, I’ll leave you to your rest.” 

He exited the room quickly and hastily made his way to his own chambers. Shutting the door, he threw himself onto the black sheets of his bed and palmed his half hard cock through his pants. He was perverted, he knew, but so fucking turned on by her innocent face and curvy hips and beautiful round tits that heaved when she was flushed.  
She had no idea how tempting she looked every single day, and God if that didn’t turn him on even more. She was so innocent, and he wanted to slam her up against a wall and kiss her and fondle her until she was oh so wet, and then he would fuck her and rip her innocence from her as she moaned helplessly underneath him. It was all he could do to keep from coming in his pants. His shame fueled him as he unbuckled his belt and grasped his cock, spending himself on his shirt and thinking only of all the horrible, dirty things he wanted to do to her. 

Afterwards, the shame spread all over him, and he went to sleep curled up in a ball, ashamed of his own thoughts. She could never love him.

What had he been thinking?


	2. A New Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine continues to act in ways she absolutely shouldn't considering what Erik has done to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all! school's about to start, and I still hope to update pretty regularly, but here's the next chapter before I get swept up by all my classes! thank you for all the love and support, I love to see that people are enjoying my work :) once again, kudos and comments are much appreciated!

Erik woke to the smell of frying bacon, which was odd. For a moment, he forgot that Christine was in his house at all, but then the memories of the previous day flooded back to him and he buried his deformed face in his pillow. He had to pull himself together. Getting up, he picked out another black suit and made his way to the kitchen. Where was the smell of breakfast coming from?

As soon as he rounded the corner, Erik froze in his tracks. Christine leaned over the stove top, frying eggs. A plate of bacon and toast sat to her right, and Erik tried and failed to stop his eyes from roaming to her plump bottom, which stuck out as she reached to adjust the temperature of the burner. 

“Oh, hi.” She smiled cautiously when she turned to see him standing there watching her. He quickly snapped his eyes back up to her face.

“You shouldn’t be up.” Erik’s voice was gravelly, as he’d just woken up, but it was quite possibly the worst thing he could have said to her. Christine shrugged.

“I woke up early and couldn’t find anything to do…” she drifted off, shifting under his gaze “I didn’t know how you like your eggs, so I made fried and scrambled.” She plated the fried eggs, and set the whole spread on Erik’s tiny kitchen table. 

“Fried.” Erik was monosyllabic in shock. Why on earth would she do this for him? Had she seen his horrible face? He didn’t deserve any of this, but he pulled out a chair to the table and sat down, scooping an egg on his plate. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Christine preferred her eggs scrambled, and Erik couldn’t help but stare as her small pink tongue darted out to eat each bite daintily off her fork.

“You know, I don’t even know your name.” She finally broke the silence. “I can’t just keep calling you angel.”

“No,” Erik agreed. She knew by now he was no angel.

“So…?”

Was she really asking him his name? No one had asked his name in… he couldn’t even count the years.

“Erik.” He watched her face to see her reaction.

“Erik.” She tried the name out, and his name didn’t deserve to be on her lips. It was a dirty word, but now that he knew what it sounded like when she said it, he knew he would do anything to get her to say it again. What would it sound like if she moaned it? No. No, he couldn’t think of that. Anything but that. He ate the rest of his egg in silence, staring at his plate, so that his eyes wouldn’t wander. When his plate was clean, Erik got up to rinse it and put it away. 

“Thank you.”

“For?” Christine’s brow furrowed. 

“For breakfast.” Their eyes met. “I’ll be in my music room should you need anything.” He tore his gaze away from her. Surely she was aware of his feelings for her, but he did not need to make them any more obvious than they already were. It would only make her uncomfortable.

He passed a few hours composing and testing a new melody for a concerto. It was so beautiful, he almost thought to make it an opera, but couldn’t bring himself to. Erik was fairly sure he would never write another opera again. How could any soprano compare to Christine’s voice? A voice which he may never hear again, he thought to himself. How could she ever sing for him again? Of course, she wouldn’t. Too many horrible, horrible memories. God, had he not only deprived himself of any shred of affection she might have felt for him, but her voice, too? What a monster he was. 

A gentle knock on the door brought him out of his own head and back into his music room. Christine must need something.

“Come in.” Stupid, stupid. He should have gotten up and opened the door for her. That would have been what Raoul would have done, wouldn’t it? But who was he fooling? He’d lost his chance at acting like a gentleman long ago. He certainly didn’t think like one. The door cracked open, and Christine peered into the red, velvet lined room.

“May I…” she paused, and Erik could have sworn he saw color rise in her cheeks, “may I listen?”

“Yes.” She wanted to listen to his music? After all he’d put her through? Christine made her way into the room and sat primly down on the organ bench next to him. They weren’t touching, of course, but they were so close Erik could feel her body heat, could smell the faint scent of her perfume. He almost groaned at the closeness. How could she not know how much she tempted him? Dear God, it took all of his restraint not to do anything rash sitting next to her like this. Instead, he channeled his desire into playing the organ once more, a different melody than the one he’d been working on, this one sweet and rich like a black cherry, entirely conjured from his mind on the spot. It was good. He’d have to write it down later. Christine closed her eyes and listened, and they stayed like that for another hour or so, the music stretching on and on. He didn’t want to end it, wanted her to sit quietly next to him and listen to him play for the rest of eternity, but he finished on an F chord and took his hands off the instrument. Christine opened her eyes and smiled, looking at him. 

“That was beautiful.” She hesitated before adding, “As always.” 

Erik nearly melted. She still thought his music was beautiful. What he would not give up for this girl, should she ask him, he did not know.

“I noticed you have a library,” she began, trailing off.

“Of course, all the books in it are yours to read.”

“Really?” Her face brightened, and Erik’s heart sang that he had made her happy.

“Yes.”

Christine practically skipped out of the room, so happy was she that all that reading was for her taking. Erik smiled gently under his mask before scowling and turning back to his work. It was only the books that had made her happy, not him. He should not fool himself.

Only when it was around ten pm did Erik finally venture from his music room. He’d spent the entire day composing, but he was quite sure he would never use any of it. Everything he’d written had been too infused with love and passion, and yes, lust, though he hated to admit it. He was quite sure he could never let Christine even touch him in any way, or he would spoil her on the spot, and then what would he do with himself? Of course, Erik expected Christine to be long in bed. When she was performing at the opera house, she retired at nine or so. What he did not expect to see was Christine sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace reading a book, still in her day dress, feet tucked under her as she turned the pages.

“Ah, there you are.” She looked up from the book and gave him a small, hesitant smile. “I was wondering when you would come out of that dusty old room. I’ll have to clean it at some point, I don’t know how you can stand all that grime.”

“Absolutely not.” Erik couldn’t help the deep, stern tone of his voice, and he wanted to slap himself for it. What must she think of him. Christine’s eyes widened. “I mean,” Erik tried to save himself and stumbled over his words, “You don’t-- you shouldn’t have to. It’s not your job.”

“Oh.” Christine paused, thinking. “I must have something to do though. I don’t want to just sit around all day being useless.” She sighed heavily, sinking back into the couch, and Erik forced himself to keep his eyes on her face instead of her chest. He was such a pervert, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. The object of his years of desire was sitting right in front of him, yet she hated him. It was pure torture.

“You could sit with me in my music room again. I rather enjoyed it.” The words were out of his mouth before he could think about what he was saying, and he immediately wished he could take them back. Christine froze, book in her lap.

“You… did?” Her expression was unreadable, blue eyes wide as she looked at him.

“I…” he started. There was no use denying it now. “Yes.” After that, she would never come into his music room again, of that he was sure. 

“Okay.”

“What?” He looked into her eyes, attempting to glean any kind of information from them.

“I like listening to your music.” She shrugged, quickly moving her eyes back to her book. 

“Oh.” So she would sit with him again? How she could stand to be in the same room with him, he had no idea, but to sit and listen to his music after he’d admitted he enjoyed it? Impossible. And yet, here they were. Erik sat down in his chair beside the sofa and picked up the book that he was currently reading from the coffee table and began to read with her. They sat in silence, just reading, until about midnight, when they both went to their respective rooms. Erik had to stifle his moans with a pillow, while he was sure she just went right to sleep.


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik injures his hand. Christine tries to help, and accidentally pushes him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everybody! this is a really short chapter, sorry, but i have more coming, i promise. school’s just started, so we’ll see how much time i have, but i’ll be damned if i abandon this work :D kudos and comments always appreciated, i love hearing from all of you!

They passed a few weeks like this, where Christine made breakfast in the morning and they ate together, sometimes speaking about one thing or the other, though usually not. Then, Erik would go to his music room, and Christine would do something, he knew not what, until there would be a tentative knock on his door at about a quarter past one, and they would sit on the piano bench together, always at least a foot apart, while Christine listened to him play. He always tried to play something nice for her, none of that discordant organ stuff that had comprised his opera, but every once and a while he would accidentally let an edge of passion creep into his music. Strangely, Christine never seemed to mind.

In the evenings, they sat in silence, Christine on the sofa and Erik in his chair, and read together until twelve, when they both retired. So, Erik found, they fell into a somewhat companionable cohabitation, only marred by the fact that his desire was sparked by the very sight of her, and that his overwhelming love for her had not diminished at all, no matter how much he wished it would. 

All this was well and good, until one morning, Erik slipped on a spot on his kitchen floor with a glass in his hand. The glass promptly shattered, a bit of it slicing through his palm, and he began to bleed from the wound.

“Goodness!” Christine exclaimed, rushing to where he was on the floor. She surveyed his injury, and to his surprise, she didn’t so much as flinch at the blood. “Here, let me have a look at it.”

She took his hand into her own, and he couldn’t protest, as he was still recovering from the shock of being sliced open. Of course he had seen worse, and borne worse himself, in Persia, and then even in France, but not for some years at least. He’d been very careful. He sucked in a breath as she ran her thumb gently over a part of his palm that was not cut, her soft, blue eyes watching her own fingers trace the back of his hand in a way that surely wasn’t necessary to examine it.

Finally, she seemed to realize what she was doing, glancing up quickly to look at him before turning back to the task at hand. 

“That’s nasty.” She frowned, biting her bottom lip in thought. “Why don’t you let me bind it for you?”

Erik looked up sharply, surprised and becoming very aware of her skin on his where she cradled his hand in her own. He knew how to bind his own wounds, and had done so many times before, but he selfishly considered letting her bind it for him, if only to get a few moments of skin on skin contact. However, he knew from the way his heart jumped at the idea that it was a bad one; he was in enough contact with her as it was. It would hurt them both if he let her draw any closer to him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Whyever not?” she persisted innocently, still holding his hand, running her thumb over it absentmindedly. How could she bear to touch him like that, after all he’d done to her?

“Christine,” he began quietly, glancing down at where their hands joined. She followed his gaze, and suddenly the room became very still. “Please don’t make me spell it out for you again.” 

“Spell out what?” She was looking into his eyes, and all of a sudden they were close, too close, and he could smell her perfume, and he couldn’t breathe, and he was getting hard all at the same time, and he had to get out of there. Pushing himself from the floor, he winced as he put pressure on his injured hand, running from the room to get away from her and all her lovely goodness and innocence and temptation. He loved her and she didn’t love him, and it was too much for him to handle. Slamming the door, he slid down the wall of his room, holding his hand, breathing heavily. 

How could one woman be such an Achilles heel, where everything she did made him love her more, and every move she made made his lust for her even greater? Knocking his head on the wall as he looked up at the ceiling, he applied pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. There was nothing in his room to bandage it with, so he would have to emerge and face Christine sometime, but that time was not right then, and so he was content to sit against his wall and think about how much of an idiotic monster he was.


	4. Only Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik lets Christine help him, and agrees to a proposal he may not be able to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everybody! heres more angst for you lovely people :) I'm still writing, but please be patient as I'm in the throes of the school year now. kudos and comments appreciated as always <3

An hour later, there was a knock on his door, and he belatedly wished he’d locked it when he came in. He couldn’t face her right now, not like this. Christine entered his room, glancing around before heading straight towards him. Erik realized that she was carrying bandage materials in her hand. 

“Let me see it.” Her young voice was as stern as she could muster. Erik jerked his hand away when she reached for it, not looking her in the eyes. “Erik, please. We can talk later, but please let me just bandage your hand.” She had dropped the stern tone and now had entered into a soft plea that he couldn’t say no to even if he tried. God, this was going to be difficult. He steeled himself for her touch.

It was even more gentle than the first time, the way she applied a salve she must have found in his kitchen, and wrapped the bandages around his palm. He shivered as her fingertips grazed his skin, careful not to exacerbate the wound. 

“Are you cold?” Her eyes filled with concern. She must have seen him shiver. 

“No.” His hand was fully bandaged now, and he tried to pull it away from where she held it, but she kept a firm grip on him.

“Erik, I…” she glanced down at the ground, and he hoped she could not hear how fast his heart beat as her skin touched his. He knew he would dream about it that night. “I,” she tried again, “I said I would stay with you, and I meant it,” 

Oh no. 

She wanted to leave. Of course she did. How could he have thought that she would willingly spend the rest of her days with someone as horrible and ugly as he was? She could move to England, or Spain, and restart her life. She was young enough to have a fresh start anywhere she wanted. Who was he to keep her here?

“You wish to leave.” He finally worked his hand from hers, staring at the bandages. 

“I-- What? No.” Her brow wrinkled in confusion, and he could hardly believe what he was hearing. “That’s not what I was going to say at all! I gave you my word to stay, and I will. Besides,” she bit her bottom lip, and now he couldn’t stop staring at her face, “where would I go if I left?”

“Anywhere,” Erik said miserably. “Anywhere but here.”

“Erik,” she started, swallowing. A strange, soft look crossed her face. He’d never seen that look directed at him before. “Are you offering to let me leave?”

Was he? Even he did not know. A large part of him rebelled at the idea. He finally had his fantasy in his grasp, to look upon and touch as he pleased! Why would he ever let her out of his grasp? And yet, he would never touch her as he so futilely desired to. He could not bring himself to hurt her in any way; he’d already ruined what little life she had. If he let her go, he would be rid of his one temptation, and she would be rid of him. It would be mutually beneficial.

“Yes. I am.” His uninjured hand balled in his suit, keeping him from stroking her arm, or touching her hair. His nostrils flares, and she was so, so close. The temptation was almost too great. Christine’s eyes widened.

“Erik,” she said again, and if it was the last thing he ever heard, he would die happy. “That’s not what you want…” she trailed off, her hands twisting in her lap. 

How dare she talk to him about what he wanted? If he got what he wanted, she would be on the floor right now, skirt over her head, panting and moaning for him. But he could not have that. Christine would be utterly disgusted if she saw what he truly wanted. She’d probably never even imagined such things with anyone, ever. 

“I said I would stay…” she looked up at him, and their eyes met. “I think you need someone. To keep you from getting lonely. To make breakfast.” To stop you from hurting people. He knew that was how she wanted to finish the sentence, but that she just wouldn’t. Anger flooded him. She was supposed to hate him, to jump at the chance to leave! Why wouldn’t she? He rose from his position by the wall, towering over her.

“I don’t need your pity, Christine!” he snarled. “I don’t need your charity work for the faceless monster!” She recoiled, sinking into the folds of her skirt. 

“It’s not--” she started, but he cut her off.

“I am fifteen years your elder, I don’t need to be supervised like a child!” He spat the words at her. “Poor Erik, he must be so lonely!” Now Erik was mocking her voice. “Let me spend my precious time with him, that’ll cheer him up!” His eyes flashed. “Don’t give me your pity! It’s the last thing I want!” 

“It’s not pity!” Christine cried, finally able to speak. “It’s not pity,” she repeated, much more quietly this time, and Erik’s anger dissipated immediately as he saw a single tear roll down her pale cheek. Dear God, what had he done? “I,” she paused to draw in a hiccup, “I don’t know why, but even after all that’s been said and done, I think of you like..." she trailed off, and he dared not let himself hope that she would say what he had been wanting her to say for years. "Like a friend,” Christine finished. She rushed the words at the end, as if she had just barely worked up the courage to say them.

The sentence hit Erik like a pile of bricks in the head. Of course, she wasn't attracted to him. How could she be? But she had said that she considered him a what? A friend? After all that he’d done, and all the horrible, dirty thoughts he'd had about her, she thought of him as a friend? Impossible.

“I mean it,” she insisted, as if she could sense his doubt.

“A friend.” Erik repeated. Christine nodded. A friend. He could be a friend, couldn’t he? He could try. And if he was a friend that sometimes thought about what Christine would look like completely naked, well then, there wasn’t much he could do about that except feel dirty, was there? He would be content with her friendship. He must be. It was much better than her loathing. “I think I can do that.”

Christine smiled at him, and his heart nearly melted in his chest. A friendship. A friendship where she saw him as nothing more than a friend and he saw her as the most perfect creature to ever exist. Okay. If that was what she wanted, then that was what she would get.


	5. Monsieur Somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine asks Erik to go someplace he'd thought she'd never want to go to again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, i'm really really sorry its been such a long time, but here i am! back at it again with your angsty loathing monster and beautiful heroine :) the next chapter i've started writing is from christine's pov, but i felt like it needed to be done. its a little bit of a short one but its something. as always, i read every single comment and kudos are always appreciated <3

“Erik?” Christine’s voice echoed through the walls of his music room, and he glanced at the clock. It wasn’t a quarter past one yet, which was when she usually joined him to listen to his music.

“Yes, Christine?” It had been nearly a month since the incident, as he now referred to it in his mind, and he’d gotten better at hiding his ardent emotions. His voice came out even. 

“May I come in? I have something to ask you.” 

“Come in.”

Christine opened the door and closed it gently behind her, cheeks flushing slightly as her gaze dipped to his half open shirt. Shit. He always unbuttoned it when he played, except for when Christine came in to listen of course. Hurriedly, Erik buttoned it back up to his throat. 

“My apologies.” 

Christine’s gaze raked back up him. Christ, did she have to look at him like that? He was really trying with the whole ‘friend’ thing, and for the most part, he thought he was putting on a pretty good show, but sometimes there were moments like these, and his self control at the moment was becoming thinner and thinner by the second. He met her eyes and reigned in his lust. 

Stupid, he chided himself, she doesn’t want you like that.

“So,” she started, then hesitated, taking a few steps forward to sit on the piano bench before starting again, “it’s almost Christmas.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, having no idea where she was going with this.

“And, well, I was wondering if you’d,” she hesitated again before plowing through, “if you’d like to go the Christmas masquerade with me?” She looked up at him earnestly. 

Erik stared at her in shock. The masquerade? With her? A night where he’d have to dance with his body close ever so to hers the whole night long? Where all her worst memories should have resided? Impossible. 

“Christine,” he started.

“I know, I know, you think its a bad idea, but we wouldn’t go as ourselves!” She smiled hopefully. “You can be Monsieur somebody, and I can be your wife, or something like that.” 

His wife. She wanted to pose as his wife. Dear God, this was going to be harder than he thought. The woman he loved offering to pose as his wife for a whole evening. The chance to touch her and hold her and…. No. No, he absolutely could not do that to her. There was no way he--

“Please?” she pleaded. And oh God, she had put her hand on his thigh, the heat of her palm practically burning through the fabric. 

“Alright. Yes. When is it?” 

He was weak. Couldn’t even put the woman he loved before his own blind lust.

“In two weeks, on Christmas Eve.” She was practically glowing. “We’ll have find something matching in our closets that can be our costume, it's too late to order a custom set, but there still should be enough time to find someone to bead masks.” She was whisking herself out the door as she spoke, and he followed her, still in shock. They were really going to the masquerade. As a couple. Well, a fake couple, but his heart pounded in his chest just the same. 

He would be Monsieur somebody and she would be his wife.

“What will we be?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to think. Do you have any suggestions?”

“An animal?” 

“No,” she answered, “Everyone’s an animal.”

“Fairies, then?” That was the other thing people did often.

“Well,” she thought about it for a moment, “No, no. Wait!” She looked at him. He’d hardly ever seen her so excited about anything before. “What if we went as you?”

“Excuse me?” Erik was quite taken aback. 

“What if we both went as the Phantom of the Opera?”

“Monsieur and Madame… Phantom?” He hated the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. No way she could possibly want to attend the masquerade dressed as… as a beast.

“Is that okay?” She was serious, he realized. She wanted to attend the masquerade not only pretending to be his wife but dressed like him as well. And he, well, he would be attending the masquerade as himself with… with her as his wife. Oh God. 

“Yes.” He tried to play it off like it was no big deal, but internally he shook. He was going to the masquerade with Christine. As friends, he harshly reminded himself, nothing more.


	6. A Knock on the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Completely by accident, Christine intrudes upon something... personal, she is sure, but she cannot quite figure out what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am back! so sorry to be away for so long, i fall in and out of writing grooves, but now that quarantine is here, i have come to provide a fresh (very measly) offering of christine/erik as a distraction. this is the first, short-ish chapter from christine's pov. more updates will follow sooner than usual, i assure you! stay safe out there, y'all, and as always, kudos and comments are loved and appreciated.

The masks had finally arrived early that morning, and Christine practically buzzed with excitement as she pulled the package carefully from the post box Erik kept on the side of the opera house for himself. She was fairly certain he’d threatened the mask-maker to ensure they’d be ready on time, but strangely, her heart warmed a little at the thought. She shook the feeling off and rushed inside, eager to see them. However, as her hands hovered above the wrapping paper, the urge overcame her to wait and see them for the first time with Erik. Christine looked at the clock. He wouldn’t be up for another hour or so. 

What would be the harm in going to show them to him now? 

A lot of harm, she quickly corrected herself, squashing the thought. Erik valued his privacy, and she’d never been in his room, nor been invited. (Invited? Where had that thought come from? Of course he wouldn’t invite her.) She also realized that she didn’t know how temperamental he would be when he woke up. Erik was prone to… moods. Her mind flashed back to over a month ago, to the incident when Erik cut his hand. She had no desire to see him like that again, behaving like a caged animal. It had been almost… well… ‘heartbreaking’ was probably the correct word. It had stirred something in her that she hadn’t known was there -- sympathy and, strangely enough, a desire for friendship. So, she’d wait to show him until he was up, out of respect for her friend.

The minutes ticked by, and Christine couldn’t deny she was getting impatient. The package lay unopened on the table, and she eyed it with ever-growing curiosity. It was a few minutes past when Erik usually got up when Christine finally stood up from the table, grabbing the box with the masks in it. She would go to the door just to see if he was stirring in his room, she promised herself, nothing more. No intrusion of privacy would occur. 

Erik’s door was a deep mahogany, and while Christine had never seen behind it, she’d seen Erik enter and exit it many times. It was pretty solid, and so she put her ear to the door to see if she could hear anything. Everything was quiet for a few seconds until she heard some muffled shuffling. A few more seconds, and it sounded as if he could be getting out of bed. Christine waited just a little bit longer, surely enough time for him to put some clothes on, before stepping back from the door and waiting for him to come out. When, after a moment, he didn’t, she raised her hand to knock on the door, but stopped herself. That could be a bad idea. What if he was in the middle of something? What, she couldn’t fathom, but she didn’t want to disturb him, did she? Christine looked down at the package in her hands. She did very much want to open it.

It couldn’t hurt to knock, could it?

Christine raised her hand again and rapped on the wood. To her surprise, the muffled sounds resumed, though louder, mixed in with an errant choice word here and there. It sounded as if Erik was quickly getting into a pair of pants. Christine blushed.

A second later, the door opened to reveal a very flushed and disheveled Erik, a pair of pants loosely pulled onto his hips, unbelted. Christine couldn’t help herself from flicking her gaze down his body. Besides the obviously quickly donned pants, Erik’s hair was not gelled in place like it usually was, instead hanging to frame his face, a few strands falling over his eyes. His face, flushed, held a slight glow and pinkness in his pale cheeks, and his pupils were blown wide as he looked at her wildly. His shirt (not one of his usual dress shirts, Christine noted) hung open around his frame, completely unbuttoned, and she couldn’t keep her eyes from skirting down his chest and torso. His mask was on, but slightly skewed, revealing ever so slightly more of his deformity than usual.

“What is it, Christine?” he asked, and he sounded quite out of breath. Christine blushed even harder, feeling very much like she had intruded upon something very personal.

“I--” she paused mid sentence as her gaze dipped back down to his clavicles. Why could she not keep focused? She concentrated on clearing her head. “These arrived in the mail today.” Christine held up the mask box and made eye contact with Erik. They stood there in silence for a moment, before she broke her gaze away. “I’m sorry for the intrusion.” She said the words very quickly, embarrassed. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

“What?” He seemed slightly disoriented, as if he was still recovering from her disrupting… whatever he was doing before she knocked. “Oh. Yes. I’ll just, um,” he gestured back inside his room, “I’ll just get dressed, then.” Then, he was gone from the doorframe, and the mahogany door shut again.

Christine frowned. What could he have possibly been doing that would have him in such a state of disarray at such an early hour? And he had seemed so startled, too, with his shirt unbuttoned the way it had been…. Her thoughts trailed off once more at the thought. She’d have to figure out why later. He was just a man, and she’d seen plenty of shirtless men before, backstage and in dressing rooms. Why should he be any different? Christine made her way back to the kitchen table, sitting down to wait for him. She hoped it wouldn’t be awkward when he finally came out dressed. Perhaps, with some luck, the excitement of the masks would make him forget about their last interaction.


	7. Masks and Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christine makes a request of Erik that he does not want to grant, for fear it will revolt her. Christine continues to surprise him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two updates back to back? who am i? just been in a quarantine groove lately, i guess. here is our lovely erik, right after the *incident* from last chapter. sorry not sorry for the incredibly slow burn -- i do love writing it. kudos are very appreciated and comments are always happily read (and i'm doing my best to reply to more of them!) stay safe out there, y'all <3

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Eric groaned as he slid down the side of his door. How could he let her see him like that? It was so very obvious what he’d been doing. One second he’d been hurtling toward completion, thinking only of Christine’s long neck and narrow waist and ample bottom, and the second after he finished she’d knocked at the door. In his hazy mind, he’d panicked, thinking something was perhaps wrong, maybe very wrong, and that she needed his help -- there was no other possible explanation as to why she would come and voluntarily knock on his door. Certainly not to make conversation. So, he’d put his mask on, shoved on some pants, and shrugged on a shirt, not even bothering to button it, goddamn him, and opened the door.

And what did he see? Christine, beautiful, kind, innocent Christine holding the box their masks had arrived in, simply there to show him part of their costume for the masquerade. The masquerade which she had invited him to go to as friends, and only friends, and here he was, standing in his doorframe facing her not two seconds after he’d lost himself to vivid thoughts of her perfect figure. Terrible, that’s what he was. He was sure he must look absolutely disgusting to her. He burned in shame as her eyes raked over his state of undress, almost assuredly putting two and two together and absolutely thinking the worst of him for it. He couldn’t blame her. Why would anyone want a monster to find pleasure in them? It was absurd. They said a few words to each other, thought what, he could hardly remember, and then he shut the door again.

Erik heard her move away from her side and remembered that he did actually need to put real clothes on, because she was still expecting him to look at the masks with her, even after all that. It was unfathomable. She should think him despicable. In fact, Erik’s mind supplied as he dressed, she probably did and was just trying to be nice. Erik finished putting his shoes on, took a deep breath, and exited his room. 

Christine was sitting at the kitchen table with the still unopened box.

“Come, sit,” she beckoned, patting the seat of the chair next to her. Erik searched her face for any signs of disgust, finding none. She must have been better at hiding how she truly felt about him than he’d thought. It was the only explanation. Erik took the seat she’d indicated and watched as she took the lid off of the box and removed the wrapping paper excitedly. Reaching into the box, she pulled out two, nearly identical white porcelain masks. “Here.” She handed him the larger of the two with a slight smile, and Erik’s heart skipped a beat as their hands brushed. How could she even bear to touch him after that same hand was the one that-- No. He didn’t need to go there. Instead, Erik looked at the mask. It was nearly the same design as his current one, but the ribbon on the back was black silk, and the porcelain was much higher quality than the one he had now. He heard Christine giggle and looked up. She was tying the mask on, smiling excitedly. 

“It’s perfect! Do I look like you?” she asked, turning towards him.

“Christine, the last thing you’d want to look like is me.” Erik hadn’t meant it to come out so harshly, but it had, and Christine stopped smiling. God, why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut?

“Erik,” she started cautiously, examining his face. “There are worse things.”

Worse things? She thought there were worse things than him? That had to be a lie. Dear Christine, always so kind and gentle to spare his feelings, even when she had absolutely no reason to be. She must think him revolting. 

“I appreciate your kindness, Christine, but there is no need to sugar coat.” The words came out bitterly. “I know how I look.”  
He glanced up to meet Christine’s eyes. She was looking at him in a way that did funny things to his stomach, holding his gaze for a few seconds before looking away.

“When is the masquerade? I seem to have lost track of what day it is,” he said -- an attempt to divert the conversation anywhere else.

“The masquerade is in two days,” she replied, her normal expression slowly creeping back onto her face. “Do you have something to wear?” 

“Well, if I am going as myself, need I wear something different?” He looked at her, confused. Christine laughed.

“Of course you do! It’s a party, you have to dress nicely.” Her eyes filled with warmth, and Erik could barely look away. It had been years since he’d dressed in anything nicer than his usual day attire, but he was sure he had something dressier in his closet. He’d just have to dig it up.

“I may be able to find something,” he assented.

“You’d better,” she teased, smiling again, and Erik found himself smiling back, ever so slightly. 

“Do you have something to wear?” he asked. It was a bid to keep the conversation going, he knew, but it couldn’t hurt. What he wouldn’t give to see her smile and laugh like that all the time. 

“With the many things in my closet, I’m sure I’ll find something. I just have to do some searching.”

Erik’s thoughts froze. He’d nearly forgotten about the many clothes he had bought for her. What a disgrace. How foolish he had been. 

“Erik?” Christine looked concerned. “Are you alright?”

Erik snapped himself out of his self-loathing stupor.

“Hm? Yes.” He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt. “Quite alright. I suppose I should go and look for my dress attire. I have not worn it in… quite some time.”

“Oh.” Christine was looking at him funnily. She was probably remembering the incident at his door minutes before. The thought filled him with shame. “Aren’t you going to try your mask on?” she asked. Erik’s eyes snapped to meet hers. What could she mean by that?

“I will try it on in my room to make sure it fits properly,” he answered as blankly as he could. She absolutely could not be asking what he thought she was asking.

“Why don’t you try it on out here? I’d like to see.”

Erik’s entire body froze. She was asking to see his face. No, he corrected himself, she was asking to see his new mask. It probably had not even occurred to her that to do so would mean seeing his horrible deformity again. 

“Christine,” he began, voice low. “You know that’s not a good idea. You would have to see--”

“I know what I would see.” She cut him off. “I’ve seen it before. It won’t bother me, I just want to see how the new mask looks.” Her voice seemed sincere, and she looked at him earnestly.

“Christine,” he said again.

“Please, Erik?”

Erik closed his eyes in defeat. “Turn around, Christine. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to look again.”

“I’d rather not.”

Erik’s mind was running a million miles a second. Why was she insisting on seeing the one thing that should have terrified her the most? The one thing that pushed all other people he’d ever known away from him. What could she possibly wish to look at it for? Unless it was to mock him. To cement in her mind that he was the most disgusting, vile human being to ever walk the face of the planet. That was probably it, he decided. 

“Christine, it is not something that you want to see.”

“Erik.” Christine met his eyes. “Please put the new mask on. I won’t turn around, and you don’t have to either, just… please. I’d like to see it.”

He wasn’t sure which ‘it’ she was referring to. It was best just to do it, he decided. Like ripping a bandage off. Let her see him one last time so she could finally decide to leave him and end both of their misery. Lord knows, he was not strong enough to ask the woman he loved to go, and for some reason, though she must hate him, she continued to stay. So, let her see him and they would be done with all that, and he could go back to his dark room and write angry, discordant opera for the rest of his life, and she could be free of him to go and live the life she wanted to live and be happy.

Staring directly at the floor, he began to untie his mask slowly. Once that was done, he gently grasped the edges, and with one final bid of courage, he removed it from his face. The cool air washed over the marred half of his face, and he cringed, waiting for her to scream and run away, or perhaps even faint. When a beat passed and no such thing had occurred, he looked up hesitantly, expecting to see disgust, dread, or shock written all over Christine’s features.

But she was just looking at him. Like she normally would, but perhaps with a touch more curiosity than usual. Erik’s mind struggled to compute until he realized he was just staring at her, and more importantly, she was just staring at him -- without his mask on. Hurriedly he held the new mask up to his face and tied the strips of black silk in the back. Meeting her eyes once more, he saw that she was looking at him the same way she had moments before, though now half his face was covered. They stood there for a few moments.

“It looks really nice, Erik.”

He wanted to say that was impossible because nothing could possibly look nice on him, but he found that he only opened his mouth slightly and then shut it again. Christine smiled.

“You’re supposed to say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank… you.” The words came out stilted from Erik’s mouth. 

“I think I’m going to wear a red dress,” she went on, speaking as if nothing of any importance had happened. Why was she so calm? Erik’s mind was still reeling. “So it would be nice if you could find a red tie to match?” Her eyes glittered in the kitchen light. 

“Red tie,” he repeated. Christine nodded. Erik attempted to pull himself together. “Right. I think I have one somewhere.” He vaguely remembered seeing one in the depths of his wardrobe some months back. He’d be damned if he couldn’t find it. 

“It’s alright if you don’t,” she assured him, placing a hand on his arm. Was it just him or were her casual touches getting more frequent? She obviously didn’t realize the effect they had on him. He was probably fooling himself anyway, he reasoned, but even if he wasn’t, it was only a sign of their tentative friendship.

“I’ll go look.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then turned to go back to her room, presumably to search for some sort of red dress in her closet. He was sure there were several. 

Erik watched her as she left the kitchen, thinking. She may not have looked disgusted at his face, he concluded, but that didn’t mean the disgust wasn’t there. She was only sparing his feelings. It was miserable. For now, though, he could go find a red tie for the night that -- and he shuddered with both fear and excitement to think of it -- she would pretend to be his wife.


	8. To Dance or Not to Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik takes Christine to the masquerade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back! i'm so, so sorry but this ends in a cliffhanger because it was getting far too long, but the next part will be coming very soon, so don't worry :) also, thank you so much for all your kudos and comments and bookmarks! i love you all and please don't forget to stay safe <3

It was the night of the masquerade, and Erik was most assuredly not adequately prepared. Oh, he had all the right attire -- his mask, his all black dress suit, the red tie, but mentally? Absolutely not. In fact, he was already regretting his decision to attend, and they hadn’t even left. How he expected himself to spend hours with Christine’s body so very close to his own, closer than it had ever been before, he had no idea. He could hardly reign in his desires when she maintained the distance she usually did, much less when she accidentally brushed up against him during the course of the day. His self control was shredded whenever she was around him, and he feared that tonight would be the night it would snap all together, and he would make a fool out of himself and undo every ounce of friendship he had worked so hard to cultivate with Christine in the past month. But, the darker part of his mind supplied, her body would be right there, her waist underneath his hands, her breasts pressed against his-- Erik reeled his thoughts in. How Christine would be repulsed if she knew how he thought of her! If she knew that he depicted her in his mind doing such shameful things with him; how he touched himself when he thought of it. Shame coursed through him. No, she could never know. But he could not back out of going to the masquerade now. Even if he could, Christine was so excited about it, and he could not bear to disappoint her. Therefore, there remained only one solution: he would have to refuse to dance. There would be a multitude of partners there for her to dance with anyway, and all of them much more desirable that he. Erik was sure she would not object if he opted to simply stand in the corner and observe. For her, the true pleasures of the evening assuredly were not his company. 

Straightening his tie, Erik opened the door to his room and stepped out to wait for Christine. She had been in her room getting ready for over two hours. Erik wondered what could possibly take her so long. He’d just begun pacing back and forth, wondering if they were going to be late, when she finally emerged. 

However hard he had thought the night was going to be, it was now sure to be one thousand times more difficult. Erik’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Christine, unable to stop his eyes from roving down her figure and back up again.

The dress was red, all right, but such a deep satin red that it complimented her pale skin perfectly. But it was not the red that had Erik rapidly fighting to control himself -- it was the cut. The dress hugged her figure, accentuating her slim waist before flaring out and draping itself all the way to the floor. But that was not even the worst part. The neckline -- and Erik swallowed as he looked at it -- the neckline cut downwards in a V that he was sure could not possibly be considered modest. The cleavage of her breasts was on full display, practically straining against the fabric when she breathed in. How tight the bust looked, Erik thought. How her breasts looked as if they needed to be freed from the confines of such a -- No. Stop it. She was not his, and she never would be. He absolutely should not think of her in such a way. He looked at her once again. She could not possibly know how tempting she looked, or how he ached to run his hands over her body. No, she had simply seen a pretty dress and worn it. 

Erik was sure it would be his undoing.

“Are you ready, Erik?” she asked him. She'd rouged her cheeks, too, and applied a faint rose color to her lips. Erik hardly believed in God, but he prayed now that Christine had not noticed him looking at her with such lust moments ago. 

“Yes,: he said, astounded that his voice managed to come out even, if not a bit lower than usual. He watched as Christine looked him over, eyes running down his figure, no doubt checking to make sure he was properly attired. “Is the tie acceptable?” he asked. 

“What?” Christine’s eyes met his. “Oh, yes. Very acceptable.” 

Erik managed a slight smile.

“Then, shall we go?” The clock was just about to strike nine, which was when the whole thing started, but they had merely to travel upstairs. 

“Yes.” Christine stood there for a moment, almost expectantly. It took Erik a second to realize that she was waiting for him to offer his arm. He did so and barely refrained from shuddering at her touch when she took it. Then, together, they headed upstairs. 

. . .

The masquerade was invite-only, but the tunnel Erik chose to use led directly into a closet adjacent to the ballroom, so they had no problem sneaking in. As they rounded the corner to where all the music and light was coming from, Christine gasped. 

“Christine?” Erik looked down at her, heart clenched in the fear that all the masks were bringing back terrible memories. In fact, he was sure that she would turn around any second and ask that they go back, or even worse, run away from him and he would never see her again. Instead, what she said was -- 

“I’d forgotten how beautiful it was.” 

Erik moved his head to properly take in his surroundings. Of course she’d think it was beautiful, even after all the things that had happened at the last masquerade she’d attended. All the things you made happen, the voice inside him supplied. He forced the thought down and focused on the sight before him. The room was decorated in green, lining everything from the orchestra stand to the tables of horderves, but the costumes of the ball-goers were anything but monochrome. Erik spotted a pair of peacocks in the corner, and a few couples dressed as swans scattered throughout the room. 

“Look!” Christine tugged on his sleeve, and he turned his head to where she had indicated. “Aren’t those the most beautiful fairy costumes you’ve ever seen?”

The costumes were indeed exquisite, and Erik hummed his approval. Then, sounding bolder than he felt, Erik offered his arm to her once again, selfishly.

“Shall we?”

Christine took his arm and smiled, and Erik’s heart tightened. However beautiful she had looked in his dimly-lit cavern of a home, she was insufferably more so in the soft candlelight of the ballroom. As he felt heat flush down his body at her proximity, Erik was immensely glad that he had decided he would not dance with her before they had actually entered the ballroom. Lord knows he would not have the strength to make such a decision now. 

They reached the side of the dance floor, where couples already swirled gracefully in their partners’ arms. Once again, it took Erik a few moments to notice that Christine was looking at him. What could she want? His mind furiously sorted through the realistic possibilities as fast as it could. Thankfully, he was saved as a portly gentleman dressed as a rather detailed wild boar pushed between them, clearly already somewhat intoxicated. 

“Splendid costumes, my dear fellow!” He clapped Erik on the back. “The Phantom and his wife, how ingenious! You must tell me how you came up with the idea.” All of this was delivered with a wide grin, and Erik glanced at Christine, who shrugged. It seemed as if she knew what to do as much as he did, which was not at all. In truth, Erik hadn’t thought anyone would recognize who they were supposed to be. His hands clenched as he realized the level of infamy he must have reached among the opera patrons. 

“Thank you,” Erik began, before he was cut off by the rowdy man.

“Of course, it must have been your lovely wife’s idea! How wonderful it must be to have such a creative partner!”

However panicked Erik had been at having to interact with this man before, it was now heightened by a factor of ten. Of course, he knew Christine was posing as his wife for propriety’s sake, but to need to refer to her as such in conversation? He was sure he would combust right then and there. 

“Yes, my,” Erik swallowed, throat suddenly dry, “my wife is certainly wonderful indeed, Monsieur…?” 

“Du Bellay. Monsieur Du Bellay. But please,” the man paused to take a swig of the wine he had in his hand, “call me Antoine.”

“Well, Antoine--” Erik was just about to make his apologies and get out Monsieur Du Bellay’s sight, but he was interrupted again. 

“But of course, the Phantom didn’t have a wife, eh?” Antoine nudged Erik rather roughly. “No woman in her right mind would marry that ugly bastard.” He burst out laughing. “Right?” He jostled Erik again, whose face had gone pure white under the mask. “Out of you and him, you’re the lucky one. You ended up with the beautiful lady and he’s got nothing, the poor sod!”

Erik wished Antoine would stop laughing. He was right, of course. No woman in her right mind would marry him, monster that he was. Least of all Christine. The man was just repeating what she had known all along. Still, he felt the anger boiling up inside of him. Erik clenched his fists, attempting to reign himself in. He could not, would not, have another episode like he had at the last masquerade. He had gone so long without having one, surely he could control himself for one more--

“My apologies, Monsieur,” Christine interrupted Erik’s rapidly spirally train of thought, “but my husband and I still have not danced. Please excuse us.” She threaded her arm through Erik’s again, leading him away. It took Erik a second to compute that she was leading him to the dance floor.

“Christine, wait.” His mind flew into panic mode again, and he attempted to detangle his arms from hers. “You don’t want to dance with me. I mean,” he tried again, “I don’t dance, I’ve hardly ever learned, surely there is a more suitable partner for you here.”

Christine looked up at him.

“Oh,” she said, her forehead creasing ever so slightly. Did she look almost... disappointed? No, that was just his mind playing tricks on him. “Why?” she asked.

Why? Of all the things he had expected she might say, the question ‘why?’ was not one of them. Erik hesitated for a moment.

“It would just be a… bad idea, Christine.” Erik’s eyes dipped down to Christine’s cleavage again, seemingly of their own accord. He snapped them back up, groaning inwardly. Had she noticed?

Apparently she had not, because her eyes were now staring past him, back towards where they had been standing a minute before. Then, she refocused on him, looking at him in concern, almost apologetically.

“I’m really, really sorry, Erik," she began, glancing back over his shoulder. "I know you just said that you don’t dance, but Monsieur Du Bellay is staring at us, and he seems intoxicated enough that I’m afraid he’ll make a scene if we don’t do what I said we were going to do. I’m so sorry, if I had known, I wouldn’t have made that excuse, but…” She glanced up at him, eyes wide. She looked as if she was truly sorry. Erik realized with a sinking feeling that she was probably also sorry that she had to dance with him at all. He glanced behind him. Monsieur Du Bellay was indeed staring at them expectantly. He would have to dance with Christine; it was the only option.

Dear God, this was not how he had wanted the evening to go at all.

“Very well,” he agreed.

Steeling himself, Erik inhaled and offered Christine his hand. The part about not knowing how to dance had been somewhat of a lie. He’d taught himself in his youth and was actually quite proficient, but he had never danced with a partner before. He'd never thought that he would. Christine placed her hand in his, and a chill went down his spine at the single touch. Erik closed his eyes in concentration. 

This was going to be very difficult.


	9. A Simple Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Christine dance, and the rest of the masquerade goes far too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is semi-short, but after this chapter, there's only one or two more to go! thank you all for sticking with me through this, I appreciate every single one of you. as usual, kudos and comments are very appreciated <3

“Erik?” Christine looked up at him, and Erik realized she was waiting for him to put his other hand on her waist. His eyes drifted down to that area of her body and he swallowed. Her figure curved in perfectly, as if designed for a hand to slide right along it and rest there, or perhaps caress up to… other areas. Erik collected his mind and placed his hand lightly on her waist. She put her other hand on his shoulder, and they began to waltz.

Thank God Erik knew the steps, because all he could focus on was how Christine’s body was far too close to his own. At first, he tried to keep her as safe a distance from him as possible, leaving room between them, but this soon proved to be impractical, as the dance floor was flooded with couples. Space was limited, but still, Erik did his best to keep a respectable distance between their bodies, for both his sake and Christine’s. This worked until Christine moved in slightly closer, her torso now only an inch or so from his abdomen. Erik breathed in, glancing down at the narrowing space between them. 

“See? This isn’t so bad,” Christine remarked. He was glad their proximity was not completely unbearable to her, but it was getting increasingly difficult for him. He could feel the heat radiating off her body, smell her perfume, count every eyelash on her face. Christine filled his every sense, and his body began to react. Heat flushed through his chest in a wave, and Erik had to refocus his eyes on anything or anyone but Christine to stop it from going any further. She was far too tempting. At this angle, her neck was exposed, and it would have been so easy to lean down and taste the side of it… 

Then, without warning, Christine pressed herself closer to him still. Erik inhaled sharply as her body pressed against his, no longer any space between the two. Jesus. He looked down. The poor girl had no idea what she was doing to him. Looking down proved to be traitorous as he felt another spark ricochet through his body at the sight of her cleavage filling his vision. Pathetic, he thought. He was pathetic. To think of her like that as she danced with him innocently because she had to, completely unaware of how Erik’s body was reacting. How disgusted she would be if she knew his inner thoughts, all the horrible things he wanted to do to her. 

But, his mind murmured, it would be so easy to pretend that she was his in the moment. To pretend that she pressed her body against his own because she loved him and not because some drunkard had practically forced her to dance with him as a wife would her husband. So easy to picture dance after dance with her like this, hands creeping lower as the masquerade guests became more and more intoxicated and the revelry grew wilder and wilder. So easy to then picture, after the ball was over, taking her back to his home underground and running his hands through her long black hair, and then up her soft thighs. She would sigh and melt into him, and he would pleasure her, bringing her to the brink of orgasm once, twice, and then a third time as he fucked her into the mattress, his own completion following close behind. So easy to imagine that she would moan his name. 

Dirty, disgusting desires. Shame colored his face red. Christine was surely saving herself for marriage, pure and innocent as she was. She probably did not even know the words for the things he imagined doing, much less actually desire those perverted acts. They were revolting to her, made even more revolting by Erik himself. His face was disgusting enough alone, he knew, but coupled with his past actions towards her and his still very present… desires… he had more chance of going to heaven than Christine ever wanting him as a partner. He was lucky that he had her as a friend. He would content himself with that.

The dance ended, and all the couples bowed to each other before exiting the floor. Erik and Christine followed suit. As they reached the perimeter again, this time on the opposite side of the room as Monsieur Du Bellay, Christine turned to him. 

“Will you not dance another time?” Her face was earnest.

Ah. Christine must not have realized that there were an abundance of other, much more handsome men available to her, not just him.

“I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding a suitable dance partner, Christine. You need not resort to me,” he said.

Christine’s eyes acquired that look again, that one he could not place. It looked a fraction like disappointment, but that was impossible. Something else, then.

“Very well.” She bit her lower lip and chewed on it in an innocently thoughtful manner. Eric closed his eyes to keep himself from staring. That would not do. He opened them again, glad to see she had stopped worrying the bottom lip. With a little hesitation, she turned away in search of a new, better partner. 

Erik watched as a tall, blond gentleman approached her and asked for her hand in the next dance, and he watched as Christine agreed. A familiar surge of jealousy flooded him as their hands touched, but he shoved it down. Christine was not his. She could do as she liked, he reminded himself angrily.

Christine and the young man began to dance. As jealous as Erik felt, he groaned internally as he realized that her dancing only showed off her figure even more, and that he had a full view from where he stood. As if he needed more reasons to feel guilty. Her body and the gentleman’s moved exceedingly well together -- Erik was sure he had not looked half so good when he had danced with her. 

The night passed on as Erik watched countless men approach Christine for a dance. Some she accepted, and others she didn’t, but she danced no more than two dances with each one. 

Around midnight, the festivities began to wind down, and Christine curtsied to her last dance partner to make her way back to Erik, exuberant. 

“Erik,” she breathed, smiling from ear to ear. 

She sounded somewhat out of breath, no doubt from the hours of dancing, but Erik’s mind twisted the sound in his head, sending more blood to parts of his body that it didn’t need to go to. Was that what she would sound like if she were in his bed? He snapped himself back to reality, realizing that Christine was still speaking.

“Erik, that was amazing!” she gushed. “Absolutely magical. Thank you!”

And with very little warning, Christine hugged him, pressing her body even closer than it had been while they danced. Her torso pressed against his, her breasts to his chest, her arms wrapped tightly around him and pulled him in to her. Erik froze before realizing that usually when someone hugged him, it was expected for him to hug back. But it would be so selfish of him to put his arms around her waist and pull her to him as she was doing. So very wrong. And yet, it was expected of him, was it not? Surely, were he to hug her back, she would not know how he would relive the moment in his bed that night, replaying it over and over again in his mind. Surely not. So -- very, very selfishly -- Erik found himself lifting his arms to wrap around Christine’s waist.

Oh. 

It was exquisite. Her body fit so perfectly against his, her waist curved just so, so that his arms rested perfectly there. Erik was quite certain that he could die standing there and have no regrets. No one had ever touched him like that before, so casually intimate. But of course, Christine didn’t know that. She had no idea the effect that she had on him. If she did, well… Erik shuddered to think of what the repercussions would be.

Erik pulled away from the hug after an acceptable amount of time had passed. His body immediately mourned the closeness of hers, but his mind felt dirty. Christine was still smiling, which was good, since it meant he hadn’t ruined anything with his response.

“Most of the couples are leaving,” she noted. “Shall we go home?”

And just as Erik had begun to recover from the hug she’d given him, his brain short-circuited again. Home. She had called where they lived home. Subconsciously and without thought. It must be some sort of mistake.

“Christine,” he began, “please do not feel as if you have to call where I live your ‘home.’”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Christine began in earnest. Erik’s brows creased under the mask. Why was she apologizing? It was he who should be saying he was sorry. Christine looked down at the floor. “If that word is not acceptable to you, then I will refrain from using it, I just thought that--”

“No!” Erik interrupted abruptly, then evened his tone. “No, it is… it is acceptable to me, I just do not wish you to feel forced to…” he trailed off. 

“I don’t,” Christine said, still looking at the floor. “Feel forced, that is. But it has been my place of residence for quite some time now, and I, well,” she paused for a second, twisting one of her hands in the other. “I have found that I have begun to think of it as such. As home. If that is alright with you.” She finally met his eyes. 

Home. She thought of where he lived as home. Erik’s heart beat wildly in his chest. She could not possibly know the agony she caused him. The pure and utterly sweet torture. She was so pure, so kind and lovely, and she could not possibly know how her words affected him. If she knew that the things she said only fueled his love and his desires, she would surely have stopped saying them long ago. Erik realized Christine was waiting for a response, eyes searching his own. 

“It is,” he paused, considering his phrasing, “quite alright with me.” Was that too much? Had he betrayed himself? Erik looked into Christine’s eyes, but in them he saw only relief. All was well, then. Erik swallowed before offering his arm to her once more. “Shall we go… home, then?” The word rolled off his tongue too quickly, and his heart beat even faster as Christine took his arm and smiled sweetly up at him. 

“I think we shall.”


End file.
